


A Fault Confessed

by refuted



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/refuted/pseuds/refuted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just my take on Delphine and Cosima after the finale hug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fault Confessed

Cosima won’t let Delphine coddle her.

When the former pulls away from their embrace, she avoids Delphine’s stare, drowning her in equal parts guilt and agony. She searches for some sort of indication of anger, hatred, forgiveness  in her expression but finds nothing. Then, she looks away, exhaling deeply. Her hands itch to reach out again, to sneak over and grasp Cosima’s tightly, a silent sign telling her that she is resolutely, unabashedly, undoubtedly with her. Leekie, Dyad, and her own future be damned, Delphine would be at Cosima’s back. (She wasn’t lying when she told her that she was on her side now.)

She keeps her hands to herself as Cosima remains still and silent. Pensive.

Her chest constricts as she begins to fully process the path the PhD student had just begun. She had furiously studied the other clones after relaying the discovery to Leekie, eager to learn more about Cosima, if only through the others. She searched for her in all of them, but very quickly began to realize that they were individuals, independent of each other. The revelation shamed her. Cosima, clone or not, was a sentient, autonomous being: she was the culmination of her experiences, not the cultivation of  hubristic curiosities. She drank in as much as she could on the others regardless and Katja’s dossier  was unsurprisingly the most alarming. The question of how long she would have lasted had Helena not put a bullet between her eyes had lingered in her mind, constantly coming up when she was left alone with herself, as she lay in bed, as she brewed coffee, walked to class, as she smoked on the sidewalk.

Looking at Cosima and thinking Katja very well makes her want to puke. It was up there on her list of worst nightmares, and having it realize itself creates a lump in her throat and an itch behind her tongue that could only be momentarily mired with one, long scream. (Maybe a bottle of whiskey.)

“We have to tell Alison.”

The break in silence almost makes Delphine jump. She had been so deep in her own mind, suffocating in an endless tangent of Cosima’s sickness that the sound of her voice, raspy and grave—lacking its usual quirkiness— was still a welcome hand back to reality. She faces her again, who still won’t meet her eyes. Delphine nods solemnly, another wave of guilt biting at her chest as she remembers the other sister. “How are you…” Delphine trails off, unable to coherently phrase the sentence. _Going to tell her that she’s fucked? That we were too late to help her?_

Cosima shrugs, sighing deeply and leaning back onto the couch. “Shit’s hit the fan. This is such a mess and I don’t even know where to begin.”

Delphine’s brows furrow, lips curving down into a hard frown. She’s unfamiliar with the phrase but doesn’t want to push Cosima’s patience. She understands the connotation, anyway. So she remains still and silent once more, mind beginning to drift back into itself until she feels Cosima lean forward again, grabbing her mobile and dialing, slowly, dreadfully.

 

-

 

Cosima doesn’t say anything to Delphine as she ends the call, tossing the phone onto the coffee table and sinking back into the couch.

Delphine follows suit. Hands move up to rub aching eyes, providing a fleeting sense of relief. She realizes that she’s craving a cigarette. Her nerves are shot, her body aching with wear and sleeplessness, bones getting heavier and heavier as she remains reclined. (Her flight there had been just as restless.) She hasn’t eaten all day and a shower seems so far in the future, that all she really wants now is a cigarette. She can almost feel the irritation of an unfed addiction begin to manifest itself at the back of her throat.

The thought escapes as Cosima begins to lean on her, head resting just above her shoulder. The sensation makes her heart flutter as she begins to feel her pulse in her ears, a  rush of blood running through stiff limbs, jolting her awake as she forgets one craving in having another attended to. Still without a word, Cosima pushes further, arm gliding under Delphine’s, intertwining itself with hers as she takes her hand, fingers laced. Delphine stays silent, afraid to scare her away, like a stray cat. A lone bird. She lets Cosima take the lead. Genuinely, this time around.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

Delphine frowns again. Underneath all the wrongs she’s done to her, she can’t think of anything warranting gratitude. Yet, she can’t bring herself to question it. There’s so much she wants to say, so much she wants to relay to her, but is rendered frustratingly inarticulate as the words die on dry lips. She curses the language barrier. Her mind is racing in French, running too fast, changing from apology to explanation to confession too quickly to allow herself a chance at beginning to translate the sentiments whirring at the tip of her tongue.

 _Mieux vaut faire que dire._ She’ll spend the rest of her life if she needs to.“I would have taken Leekie’s offer. I would’ve signed myself away if…if you hadn’t…”

Delphine finally finds her voice at this, squeezing her hand and interjecting with vehemence, almost wincing at the sound of his name, “What Leekie, what _I_ did to you is unforgivable. I can only begin to make amends, even knowing that it will not be enough.”

Finally, she feels Cosima look at her. She turns to face her, grasp cautiously tightening. “Cosima, I don’t care what I have to do, so long as I see you safe. Healthy.” She stops herself, eyes downcast. “Even if it means leaving you alone. If—if that’s what you want.”

Cosima opens her mouth, inhaling sharply as if about to reply, but is seized with a coughing fit, hand letting go of Delphine’s as it moves to cover her mouth, eyes shut tightly as Delphine winces at the sound. Her heart drops as Cosima jolts forward, her cough growing more and more violent, the sound coarse and cutting.

Delphine writhes in helplessness. She doesn’t know what to do, cannot fathom a way of easing Cosima’s suffering (or her own) and the sudden  handicap makes her grit her teeth and curl her fingers against the couch’s fabric, clutching it tightly. She can only stroke her back, let Cosima’s free hand grab hers, grasp so strong her nails dig in.

She feels useless.

When Cosima stills, fingers loosening, Delphine lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her head begins to ache, temples suddenly throbbing with the influx of oxygen, hand beginning to pulse, but she refuses to concede to the pain. She almost revels in it, letting herself suffer in a twisted hope that it’ll help her atone. Cosima pulls a bloodied hand from her mouth, and without a second’s thought, Delphine is up, ruffling through Felix’s drawers until she finds a cloth to wet. She returns to Cosima swiftly, kneeling on the floor as she wipes her hand of blood, Cosima still and wordless, breathing ragged but steadying.

When she’s cleaned up, Cosima tugs at Delphine to sit back on the couch. She complies.

“Can we just lie down for a bit?” she says, looking up at her.

She nods, following Cosima’s lead as she reclines onto the couch, Delphine behind her, hand cautiously draping itself over Cosima’s waist. When she doesn’t push away, doesn’t stiffen at her touch, she releases the weight she had been holding on it, letting it fall over her stomach. She nuzzles her forehead into the nape of her neck, breathing softly against a racing heartbeat.

Cosima takes her hand, fingers locking as she holds it tighter, brings it up to her chest, nestled under her chin. They remain silent, Delphine basking in a sensation she had feared would never be experienced again. She begins to memorize Cosima, her scent, the curvature of her back, fitting snugly with her own body. She memorizes the pattern of her breathing.

It’s how she knows that she isn’t sleeping.

Delphine won’t let herself go down first.  

“I’m so angry at you.”

The words cut at her far deeper than she had expected they would, brewing a tornado in her stomach, ripping at her insides. She bites her tongue, so hard she thinks she might be drawing blood.

But, Cosima’s grip stays the same, tight, warm. “I can’t even begin to articulate how pissed I was when I realized you sold us out. I _defended_ you to Sarah.” She scoffs quietly. “I thought my bullshit radar was working just fine.”

Delphine doesn’t say anything. She can’t bring herself to even attempt to defend her actions, only burying herself deeper into Cosima’s neck, hand giving hers a soft squeeze to let her know that she was listening. That she understood and didn’t disagree. She hears Cosima sigh, feels her back elongate. “But I don’t want you to leave.”

She’s overwhelmed with relief. She understands it’s not forgiveness, but takes the admission with a newfound sense of motivation, of atonement nonetheless. She had been ready to start packing. (Not really.)

Cosima lets go of Delphine, shuffling in her spot until they’re face to face. It takes all of her to keep eye contact, inches away from her lips. Cosima takes her glasses off, tosses them onto the table and shifts again to face her. All she needs to do is lean so slightly forward…

_Merde._

“I want you here. I’m still pretty pissed, but I want you here.”

Cosima closes her eyes, sighing softly as their foreheads meet. Cosima finds her hands again, thumb stroking her knuckles a moment, until she lets go, arm wrapping around Delphine’s waist as she brings herself closer, head nuzzled under Delphine’s chin. She can feel her lips on her neck, and it takes a newfound determination to suppress the impending shudder. She shuts her eyes, arm at her back, palm open, pushing them closer, tight.

“I love the irony,” she murmurs into Delphine, warm breath buzzing at her collarbone. “The immunologist gets the sick girl with the incurable disease.” She can feel Cosima chuckle wryly.

“You don’t know it’s incurable, chérie,” she whispers.

Cosima doesn’t reply.

She takes this as acquiescence. At least, as a willingness to perhaps begin to trust her again.

The couch is beyond uncomfortable. She can feel the knots forming at her back, wood protruding through the fabric and jutting into her legs. Her shoulder aches and her other arm begins to fall asleep, but she doesn’t care.

She thinks she’s fallen in love.


End file.
